A WRITER'S WITThe nature of love is that it catches you off-guard, subjects you to rules you have never faced, some of them contradictory.--Ivan DoigBorn June 27, 1939White Sulphur Springs, MontanaDied April 9, 2015Seattle, Washington

I. Doig

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-eighth post of fifty.

Montana (2014, 2015)

​I first became acquainted with Montana when, as a child, I learned that a great uncle lived there, was superintendent of schools in Miles City for nearly thirty-five years—although I would never visit the state until many years later. In 2014, while visiting South Dakota, Ken and I made a day-trip to cross over into North Dakota and Montana. We returned to the state mid-June 2015, to enter Yellowstone National Park. A mistake tourist-wise—way too crowded—but still, we did attempt to enjoy its stark and majestic beauty. We hope to go back either in May or September one year.

A WRITER'S WITThe idea of education has been so tied to schools, universities, and professors that many assume there is no other way, but education is available to anyone within reach of a library, a post office, or even a newsstand.—Louis L’AmourBorn March 22, 1908in Jamestown, North DakotaDied June 10, 1988in Los Angeles, California

L. L'Amour

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-seventh post of fifty.

North Dakota (2014)

​Our visit to North Dakota was rather abbreviated. We were staying in South Dakota, and one day we got in the car and drove to their neighbor to the north. We had been aware that much in the way of oil drilling was going on because big trucks with oil rig business would pass us on Highway 83. When we actually crossed over the border we saw how intense the drilling was. ND’s area is 70,698 square miles. Its GDP is $52.527 Bn. Forty-four percent of its population of 755, 393 is college educated. And its capital is located in Bismarck.

North Dakota became a state November 2, 1889, the fortieth state to enter the union.

We are rag dolls made out of many ages and skins, changelings who have slept in wood nests or hissed in the uncouth guise of waddling amphibians. We have played such roles for infinitely longer ages than we have been men. Our identity is a dream. We are process, not reality, for reality is an illusion of the daylight—the light of our particular day.​Loren EiseleyBorn September 3, 1907

A WRITER'S WITWriting fiction is . . . an endless and always defeated effort to capture some quality of life without killing it.--Rose Wilder LaneBorn December 5, 1886De Smet, South Dakota TerritoryDied October 30, 1968Danbury, Connecticut

R. Wilder Lane

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-sixth post of fifty.

South Dakota (2014)

​Ken and I arrived in South Dakota in early May. Grasses had greened, and some trees leafed out, yet on one of the days we headed for Mount Rushmore National Memorial, the sky spit snow in our eyes, and the wind shoved frigid air across our faces; the second time we returned, as photos above reveal, the skies were clear. Later in the day, we visited Crazy Horse Memorial, a thirty-minute drive southwest of Mount Rushmore.

South Dakota became a US territory with the Lousiana Purchase, in 1803. It achieved statehood on November 2, 1889 as the fortieth state.

A WRITER'S WITFlying is hypnotic and all pilots are victims to the spell. Their world is like a magic island in which the factors of life and death assume their proper values. Thinking becomes clear because there are no earthly foibles or embellishments to confuse it.Ernest K. GannBorn October 10, 1910Lincoln, NebraskaDied December 19, 1991Friday Harbor, Washington

E. K. Gann

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-fifth post of fifty.

Nebraska (2014)

Ken and I stayed at one of those nondescript road motels that begins with an “H.” The young woman at the desk asked me what brought us to Nebraska. And I told her that I was attempting to log visits to four of my last ten states. She seemed to have an inferiority complex about Nebraska which I’ve witnessed before. One time, I met a young gay man visiting Texas from Omaha. I simply asked him what gay life was like in Omaha, certainly assuming it was better than Lubbock’s, and he got all defensive about it, as if I were making fun. Anyway, I told the woman that driving north on Highway 83, we’d seen some of the most beautiful land ever. Northeast Kansas and southeast Nebraska are not entirely flat, nor entirely agricultural. There is a very pastoral scene there, even if a Nebraska waterway called the Dismal River runs through it. Nebraska, you’ve got some PR to do. You can’t rely entirely on your ‘Huskers to make your name in the world! You need a WillaCatherLand or something.

Nebraska became the thirty-seventh state on March 1, 1867 and celebrated its sesquicentennial in 2017.

A WRITER'S WITThe true measure of a man is how he behaves when death is close.Alma KatsuBorn November 29, 1959Fairbanks, Alaska

A. Katsu

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-fourth post of fifty.

Alaska (2011)

​Saturday, May 21, 2011 In Seattle, Ken and I board the Holland American ms Westerdam and head for open sea. It is 48°. We’ve never been on a cool-weather cruise before, but so far we like it. The décor designed for the Dutch firm is subtle and nuanced, not garish like some other lines I could mention. The crew are polite and friendly but not overly so. Not long after we enter our stateroom, we meet our steward for the trip. Each morning that he makes up the bed he will fold a single white towel into caricatures of various animals. See photos below.

​Wednesday, May 25, 2011 – Sitka, AlaskaOur vessel is at anchor beginning at nine a.m. We will depart near five p.m. Our visit will be the length of a work day, and the group we’re with make the most of it. We all board a jitney, and a guide steps on board to be with us. At least three times throughout our day she informs us how lucky we are that the sun is shining and that the temps are in the seventies. It could be cool and damp, she says. There exists and interesting blend of Russian and Tlingit Indian influences that make the day memorable.

​Tuesday, May 24, 2011 – Hubbard GlacierI’m not sure it’s wise, but the captain glides our behemoth ship in close to view the glacier up close. The deck is crowded with passengers especially on the starboard side. I’ve seen glaciers calving on film but never live before. Of course, everyone is bundled up, and we can see our breath while back in Texas the highs are in the nineties. I stare and can’t help wonder what kind of shape of this glacier will be in a decade from now.

​Thursday, May 26, 2011 – Ketchikan, AlaskaWe dock at 6:41 a.m. and undock at 12:56 p.m., making for a short visit. Ken and I actually remain aboard and watch the action from our spacious terrace. The town’s shops are painted a variety of bright colors, and I photograph the geographic features that serve as a backdrop: the trickling down of a waterfall, the fog, a thick green forest. It is 57°. I fully understand that we’ve only seen a small fraction of what Alaska has to offer the tourist this week, but I do hope to return one day and see more.

After a long and checkered past with the U.S., beginning in 1867, Alaska finally achieved statehood early in 1959, when I was in fifth grade. ​​

A WRITER'S WIT​Sixty percent of all Indians live in urban areas, but nobody's writing about them. They're really an underrepresented population, and the ironic thing is very, very few of those we call Native American writers actually grew up on reservations, and yet most of their work is about reservations.--Sherman AlexieBorn October 7, 1966Spokane, Washington

S. Alexie

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-third post of fifty.

Washington (2011)

​The only place I’ve visited in Washington is Seattle, where Ken and I embarked on a Holland America ship headed for Alaska (see my profile next week). But we spent a couple of days there before leaving and a day upon return, giving us a good feel for the city. I was surprised by the topography, that it gives San Francisco a run for its money on its steepness, known informally for its “seven hills,” like Rome. Hee hee. I loved the outdoor market, where you can watch the vendors toss a fifteen- or twenty-pound salmon to a paying customer, who’d better catch it. I loved the vibe, the fact that much public art adorns the city, that it was one of the first cities to raise its minimum wage to $12. And then there’s the coffee, ah, the coffee—if you like that sort of thing.

Washington was the forty-second state to be admitted to the union in 1889.

A WRITER'S WIT​The best poetry has its roots in the subconscious to a great degree. Youth, naivety, reliance on instinct more than learning and method, a sense of freedom and play, even trust in randomness, is necessary to the making of a poem.— May SwensonBorn May 28, 1913Logan, UtahDied December 4, 1989

M. Swenson

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-second post of fifty.

Utah (2015)

The first time Ken and I were in Utah the visit was rather unintentional, hardly worth mentioning, but I shall. We had booked a Southwest flight from Lubbock to Boise, one of us, ahem, assuming we had only one stop in Las Vegas, the western hub. Wrong. We wound up stopping both in Reno and Salt Lake City before touching down in Idaho. Our second visit was still sort of a pass-through, but, at least we spent the night south of SLC, in Provo. We ate dinner at the Village Inn, and the most interesting aspect of our dinner was that we were seated in a booth wedged between two young couples, both Mormon, we assumed, by virtue of their conversations: two-year service and such. I can’t really remember, but we clearly witnessed the two most innocuous heart-to-hearts I’ve ever overheard in a restaurant, especially for people in the shank of their youth. ¶ The next day, we stopped at the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge, which totally redeemed the dismalness of the night before. I’ve posted a number of photographs of the birds we were able to snag while there. It was a lovely way to spend a morning!

It became the forty-fifth state on January 4, 1896, and celebrated its centennial on that date in 1996.

A WRITER'S WITIf women could go into your Congress, I think justice would soon be done to the Indians.--Sarah WinnemuccaBorn c1844Near Humboldt Lake, NevadaDied October 16, 1891Idaho

S. Winnemucca

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the forty-first post of fifty.

Nevada (2009-2018)

​I have long held a disquieting feeling about Christmas. Its messages are mixed: on the one hand, it is religious celebration of the birth of a major religious figure; on the other, Christmas is the biggest Capitalist opportunity to get rich (or break even) off the back of that little baby born 2,000 years ago. No cognitive dissonance for you? Well, okay, I’m just built that way, I guess. Anyhoo . . . in 2010, when a friend invited Ken and me to spend six days as her guest in Las Vegas, we said, “Hell, yeah.” No tree to set up. No presents (the trip is our gift to one another). No holiday parties to endure. And we are now approaching our tenth Xmas in Vegas.

​Nevada, itself, is filled with paradoxes: a state with nearly twenty Indian reservations yet one city with all the largest casinos; Las Vegas with its two million Bedouins living like city slickers; LV with its magnificent water features yet a limited single source (Lake Mead); a city of great riches yet poor souls passed out on The Strip, some with tin cups in hand; blazing summers yet AC that induces one to wear a hoody indoors. Lowbrow and highbrow entertainment, all in one city. What more could a tourist ask for? Honestly, I love Christmas in Vegas. There, the holiday is but a footnote, and that makes me happy.

Nevada was the thirty-sixth state to be admitted into the union in 1864 and celebrated its sesquicentennial in 2014.

A WRITER'S WITNothing written for pay is worth printing. Only what has been written against the market.Ezra PoundBorn October 30, 1885 Hailey, IdahoDied November 1, 1972 Venice, Italy

E. Pound

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the fortieth post of fifty.

Idaho (2008, 2010, 2015)

Some places you visit because you know people who live there. In teaching graduate students at Texas Tech summer school, my partner Ken introduced one of his female students to a young English professor who was teaching creative writing at the same time (I believe this to be true). The couple later married, and the professor was instrumental in getting me into the MA program at TTU. Before I could finish my degree, Ann and Daryl moved to Boise, and years later, after Ken and I retired, we visited them at their home, once in summer and once in autumn.

Boise is a well-kept secret, with a fine university. A river running through it (couldn't resist), in fact, a cultivated green belt for athletes, zoo-goers, museum attendees, and fresh-air breathers of all kinds. A great center for cinema, especially the Egyptian Theatre. A breeding ground for writers and authors. Most of all, a humane population. One night, after the four of us had attended a play at the Idaho Shakespeare Festival Amphitheater, the crowd strolled toward a huge parking lot. I figured, as in Texas, that there would be a huge push—cars streaming in all directions—to scramble to the closest exit. I was astounded when, as we reached a certain nexus, a four-way stop, each line of drivers took his or her turn heading for the exit. Ken and I asked if that was normal, and our friends quietly insisted it was. A state that uses a saying like “Drive Friendly” could sure learn something from that genteel bunch of Idahoans. Ken and I confessed that if we’d only encountered the place ten years earlier, we might have retired there. Of course, it just could have been a bunch of talk.

Idaho was the forty-third state to be admitted into the Union on July 3, 1890. Its state bird is the Mountain Bluebird, and it boasts a population of 1.7 million people.

A WRITER'S WITTo me, poetry is somebody standing up, so to speak, and saying, with as little concealment as possible, what it is for him or her to be on earth at this moment. Galway KinnellBorn February 1, 1927 Providence, Rhode IslandDied October 28, 2014Sheffield, Vermont

G. Kinnell

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-ninth post of fifty.

Rhode Island (2003)

I must admit that Rhode Island is one of the fifty states through which I made one of those pass-through visits, as I did with Delaware. However, I feel a literary connection with the state because of one writer, Edith Wharton. If Ken and I had had time, we most surely would have visited her former residence, Land’s End, located in Newport and portrayed in her novel, The Age of Innocence. I visited her other home, The Mount, in Lenox, Massachusetts three times over the period of a decade, and so, upon my return to the state Newport shall be my first stop.

​Rhode Island became thirteenth of the original thirteen states, in 1790, and its official name is Rhode Island and Providence Plantations.

A WRITER'S WITIn the life of each of us, I said to myself, there is a place remote and islanded, and given to endless regret or secret happiness; we are each the uncompanioned hermit and recluse of an hour or a day; we understand our fellows of the cell to whatever age of history they may belong.Sarah Orne JewettBorn September 3, 1849South Berwick, MaineDied June 24, 1909South Berwick, Maine

S. Jewett

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-eighth post of fifty.

Maine (2008)

Ken and I drove from our outpost in Massachusetts to Maine in the autumn of 2008, just prior to the election. It seemed like quite a distance, at first. Could we really make a day trip of it? Turned out to be a little over a three-hour drive, what we consider a short jaunt in Texas. A friend from the area had told us we must indulge in a lobster roll or two, so for lunch we stopped at a large establishment that seemed to specialize in it (large lobster sign). Meh. It wasn’t anything to write to Washington about, but we enjoyed it and moved on to the Acadia National Park, where we climbed Cadillac Mountain. And then onto Maine’s magnificent coast and charming lighthouses. We spent the night in a motel, and on our drive back, half the political signs seemed to be for Obama and the other half for McCain, a prescient view of our present situation.

Maine, the twenty-third state admitted to the Union, will celebrate its bicentennial in 2020.

A WRITER'S WITI would no more quarrel with a man because of his religion than I would because of his art.Mary Baker EddyBorn July 16, 1821Bow, New HampshireDied December 3, 1910Newton, Massachusetts

M. Eddy

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-seventh post of fifty.

New Hampshire (2003, 2008)

​What I recall most about New Hampshire is that Ken and I were visiting in Massachusetts and decided to make a daytrip to NH, but a driving rainstorm kept us in the car, mostly. Sad to say that the other time we drove through New Hampshire it was on our way to Maine. NH—the Granite State and tenth least populous—was the ninth state to be admitted to the Union and celebrated its bicentennial in 1988.

A WRITER'S WIT​The health of the people is of supreme importance. All measures looking to their protection against the spread of contagious diseases and to the increase of our sanitary knowledge for such purposes deserve attention of Congress.Chester A. ArthurBorn October 5, 1829Fairfield, VermontDied November 18, 1886Washington DC

C. Arthur

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-sixth post of fifty.

Vermont (2003)

In 2003, I applied for entrance into the distinguished Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference. In addition to filling out a long form I was asked to include a writing sample. I secured airfare and accommodations immediately to lock in good prices for Ken and myself. Months later, I received the news that I had not been accepted. Ken and I decided to make a vacation of it and go anyway. After all, we were staying in nearby Middlebury, not on the Bread Loaf campus itself. The conference opened its doors each evening to the public for literary events, and we attended a reading by Charles Baxter and one by Sigrid Nunez. I continued to apply to the conference, and I was ultimately accepted in 2006 but turned it down because of ill health. At any rate, back to 2003, Ken and I enjoyed traveling throughout the state of Vermont, gazing upon verdant farmland, the White Mountains thick with hardwoods. It would be, for us, a grand place to live . . . for about five months out of the year.

A WRITER'S WIT​If we cannot now end our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity.John Fitzgerald KennedyBorn May 29, 1917Brookline, MassachusettsDied November 22, 1963Dallas, Texas

JFK

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-fifth post of fifty.

A WRITER'S WIT​We in the press have a special role since there is no other institution in our society that can hold the President accountable. I do believe that our democracy can endure and prevail only if the American people are informed.Helen ThomasBorn August 4, 1920 Winchester, KYDied July 20, 2013 Washington, DC

H. Thomas

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-fourth post of fifty.

Kentucky (1994)

One of the hottest drives Ken and I ever made was in 1994, when we ventured across Indiana into Kentucky to visit with friends I’d taught with at one of my schools. They were (and are) a fun couple. They lived in a rather rustic setting, and we enjoyed the lush scenery on our drive through the state. I believe we drank great quantities of Kentucky bourbon.

Kentucky is the fifteenth state and celebrated its bicenquinquagenary in 2017.

A WRITER'S WIT​We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play the piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion.Zelda FitzgeraldBorn July 24, 1900Montgomery, AlabamaDied March 10, 1948Ashville, North Carolina

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-third post of fifty.

Alabama (1994)

Ken and I stayed in Tuscaloosa on one of our sojourns to Myrtle Beach. In 1981, I wrote a fan letter to author Lonnie Coleman, who had enchanted me with his Beulah Landand Mark, a novel about a young gay man at the University of Alabama in the 1930s. How difficult it must have been to write about such a situation. I remember bursting into tears at the end of Mark. That alone was the reason for writing Coleman in October of 1981: I've never written a fan letter to an author before, and I'm not sure that's what this is. Nevertheless, I was compelled to tell you how much I enjoyed your recent novel, Mark. I was gratified when he wrote back:

For a state that holds such a horrible reputation for civil rights, it also boasts quite a list of literary figures. Entire novels have been written about the anguished relationships between slaves and their so-called owners, perhaps attempting to atone.

​Alabama is the nation’s twenty-second state and celebrates its bicentennial in 2019.

A WRITER'S WITThe Venturer is one who keeps his eye on the hedgerows and wayside groves and meadows while he travels the road to Fortune.O. HenryBorn September 11, 1862Greensboro NCDied June 5, 1910​New York NY

O. Henry

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-second post of fifty.

North Carolina (1990)

On one Myrtle Beach trip, Ken and I rented a car and drove to our friends’ home in western Virginia. Driving through North Carolina, I was struck with the notion that its African-American residents had ancestors who had lived in the state far longer than many of its white ancestors, and yet the political balance always seemed to sway in the other direction. That situation does seem to be changing.

​North Carolina is the twelfth of the thirteen original colonies and celebrated its bicenquinquagenary in 2014.

A WRITER'S WITThe hardest thing to teach young writers is that it's wonderful to tell your truth. And that's what you should do. But it damn well better be beautiful.Dorothy AllisonBorn April 11, 1949in Greenville, South Carolina

D. Allison

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirty-first post of fifty.

South Carolina (1990-1992, 1994)

R. Jespers, Brookgreen G., 1994

Because Ken’s nephew and wife lived in Myrtle Beach, we were able to visit a number of interesting places: Brookgreen Gardens at Murrells Inlet, Myrtle Beach State Park, and an overnighter in Charleston, one of the nation’s oldest cities, where we visited several historical homes being renovated following Hurricane Andrew, in 1992. The specter of slavery still looms large in places: plantations and slaves’ quarters. Then there is the human specter, descendants of those slaves, some of whom still struggle to achieve equality with whites. During those four summer visits, we also spent a great deal of time just enjoying ourselves at places like Barefoot Landing in North Myrtle Beach.

South Carolina is eighth of the thirteen original colonies and also celebrated its bicenquinquagenaryin 2013.

A WRITER'S WIT​When it comes to memoir, we want to catch the author in a lie. When we read fiction, we want to catch the author telling the truth.Tayari JonesBorn November 30, 1970​Atlanta, Georgia

T. Jones

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the thirtieth post of fifty.

Georgia (1990, 1991, 1992, 1994)

The first trip of four that Ken and I made to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, we flew into Atlanta, Georgia. The Atlanta airport was touted as being one of the world’s busiest, and I had no argument with anyone about that, as we busted our rears to get to our gate. Our fourth trip we motored from Texas and drove through a bustling Atlanta, a city I would like to see more of. I would like to visit Savanah. I would like to see where author Flannery O’Connor lived. I would like to see free and fair elections in Georgia before my life ends. That's when I may return to Georgia.

​Georgia is fourth of the original thirteen colonies and celebrated its bicenquinquagenary in 2013.

A WRITER'S WIT​Behold not with anger the sins of man, but forgive and cleanse.Lili’uokalaniBorn September 2, 1838 HonoluluDied November 11, 1917 Honolulu

Queen Lili'uokalani

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the twenty-ninth post of fifty.

Hawaii (1977, 1996)

I first visited Hawaii in 1977, my most momentous journey since I’d begun teaching in 1974, the ten-day vacation being the first I’d ever spent alone. I borrowed $750 from the credit union, and I figured I would do a lot of sightseeing and reading at the beach. On the third day, however, I met a number of young men at a bar, Hula’s, and we palled around for the remainder of the trip.

The second time, in 1996, Ken and I celebrated our twentieth year together by taking a cruise among the islands. The now defunct cruise line had purchased the SS Independenceand SS Constitution. The Independence held about six hundred passengers, a crew of three hundred. It may have been the most carefree trip we’d ever taken in our lives. Once aboard the ship, you had few worries, few decisions to make. You could stay on board during all the stops, or you could take excursions. At the end of both trips, I felt as if I never wanted to go home. I imagine that many visitors and residents never want to leave, as well.

​Hawaii became the fiftieth state in 1959, when I was eleven years old. ​

A WRITER'S WITSnow JokeSo now I remember why I like the snow:after a winter of over one hundred inches (a record, at least) that threatens to make us gocrazy (or to Florida) with the cranes and finchesand herons and swans and all the rest of thosesummer visitors— enters all, no long-termleases here, no home-owners, no rash purchasesover budget, no mortgages or sub-prime loans--snow remains the best excuse for sloth,for staying warm inside and hunkering down,ambition and commitment heading south.Spring! The sun and every flower's a clownnoodgying us back to life: Get to work!On every tree a bud, a leaf, a smirk.Ronald WallaceBorn Cedar Rapids, Iowa 1945

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the twenty-eighth post of fifty.

Iowa (1976, 2000, 2001)

My more memorable trips to Iowa came in the summers of 2000 and 2001, when I attended the Iowa Summer Writing Festival at the University of Iowa in Iowa City. For me those two sessions provided a resuscitation of my writing career. I was in my early fifties, and I felt if I were going to make anything of myself I needed to take the skills I’d acquired in my thirties and hone them further. Exposing my work to many who were younger than myself, I workshopped short stories in both classes and made great connections. Both instructors were fairly recent graduates of the Iowa Writers' Workshop and provided me with meaningful feedback on my writing.

I drove the first time, and I recall the verdant, rolling hills of Iowa farmland, such a contrast to the flat, sometimes desolate landscape of West Texas. In Iowa City, I lodged at a hotel on the edge of the IU campus. I was impressed with the pedestrian mall, where one could purchase almost anything, impressed with a triplex theater, where, one night, I postponed my required reading of manuscripts by attending a showing of The Golden Bowl, a film based on Henry James’s novel, screenplay by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala. I didn’t regret it.

​Iowa became the twenty-ninth state in 1846. It celebrated its sesquicentennial in 1996. ​

A WRITER'S WITGood things come, but they're never perfect; are they? You have to twist them into something perfect.Maud Hart LovelaceBorn April 25, 1892 Mankato, MinnesotaDied March 11, 1980 Claremont, California

M. Lovelace

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the twenty-seventh post of fifty.

Minnesota (1976)

In 1959, I mailed a fan letter to children’s writer, Maud Hart Lovelace. She answered in kind and included what I thought at the time was a generous gift: a pamphlet about her books. I spent many an hour reading her oeuvre which featured Minnesota in the background, almost, at times, as another character.

In 1976, Ken and I spent the night in Rochester and the next day passed through Austin and Albert Lea. I would like to return one day and see Minneapolis/St. Paul. Rochester, where the Mayo Clinic is located. I always refer to the May Clinic Web site when searching out medical information.

I’ll always envy Minnesota for being the home of F. Scott Fitzgerald, although I think he had mixed feelings about his origins. I sometimes believe it was his voice speaking, and not Daisy’s, in The Great Gatsby, when she says, “Sophisticated—God, I’m sophisticated.” Said with such irony and sarcasm for I don’t think she, or he, felt sophisticated at all.

​Minnesota became the thirty-second state in 1858 and celebrated its sesquicentennial in 2008. ​

A WRITER'S WITEvery job is good if you do your best and work hard. A man who works hard stinks only to the ones that have nothing to do but smell.Laura Ingalls WilderBorn February 7, 1867 Pepin County WisconsinDied February 10, 1957 Mansfield, Missouri

L. Wilder

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the twenty-sixth post of fifty.

Wisconsin (1976)

Mary was a rookie teacher I worked with on my first assignment. When she attended the Christmas party, she brought a white elephant gift in the incarnation of an old candle in the shape of half a football. The colors—green and gold—were faded, but across the side were printed the words “Packer Backer.” It was one of those gifts that kept getting passed off, rather appropriately, like a lateral. We, after all, lived in Dallas Cowboy country. I liked Mary a lot. She often spoke of Wisconsin wistfully, and, although she had attended college in Denver, she wound up moving to Seattle with her Texas-born husband; I never spoke with her again.

In 1976, rather than follow the perimeter of Lake Michigan to head west, Ken and I put our car on a ferry and sailed from Frankfort across the lake to Wisconsin, a four-hour trip in those days. On the boat I met a young man about my age, who was in the process of divorcing his wife. From his flirtatious attentions, I got the feeling that we could have hooked up. When Ken and I met up for lunch in the bowels of the sad little ferry, I told him about the guy I’d met. Wisconsin turned out to be nothing more than a conduit to Minnesota, where we would pick up I-35 and take it south to Kansas to stay with my parents in Wichita. I would like to return one day.

​Wisconsin became the thirtieth state in 1848 and celebrated its sesquicentennial in 1998.

A WRITER'S WITI have a lot of novels that I haven't finished. I usually get 150 pages in and I realize it's not going anywhere. I don't publish everything I write. I must have six unfinished novels at least.Jeffrey EugenidesBorn March 8, 1960Detroit, Michigan

MY JOURNEY OF STATES is a series in which I relate my sixty-year quest to visit all fifty states in the U.S. In each post I tell of my relationship to that state, whether brief or long, highlighting personal events. I include the year of each state's entry into the union and related celebrations. I hope you enjoy my journey as much as I have. This is the twenty-fifth post of fifty.

Michigan (1976)

R. Jespers, Lighthouse, Lake Michigan, 1976

My only encounter with Michigan came in 1976 when Ken and I traveled to the upper Midwest to see his friends who lived in and around Kalamazoo, where Ken had taught for several years. We were there over the Fourth of July holiday, and the weather was so cool and rainy most of the time that we wore jackets and long pants. I’d never seen such lush gardens, so many aged and massive trees. One of the graduating classes that Ken taught sponsored a reunion every five years. Actually, it was a group of people that had rather adopted Ken and for a while they all lived in a large house they called the Pleasure Palace. Ken has attended several of these reunions.

Michigan is the twenty-sixth state and celebrated its sesquicentennial in 1987.